Free Soldier On by Sydney Logan Page B

especially when I’m on the clock. I just feel . . . off. Grouchy. Frustrated.
    Suddenly, I feel a pair of hands on my waist.
    “I know what you need,” he whispers in my ear.
    With those words, and with that voice, every ounce of tension leaves my body. I turn around, and Brandon steps closer, pinning me between his body and the shelf.
    “Hi.” My voice is soft and whispery and so not me.
    “Hey.” He plays with a strand of my hair. “Rough day?”
    “Rough week. Weeks .”
    “Mine, too. I’ve missed you.”
    And that’s when I realize the reason behind my foul mood. Could it really be that simple?
    “I’ve missed you, too.”
    “Better now?”
    “Getting there.”
    With a grin, he lowers his head, and I sigh softly as his lips trail along my neck. I wrap my arm around him and pull him harder against me, making him groan. This section of the library stays pretty deserted, but it’s still a little too out in the open for this level of PDA.
    However . . .
    “Come with me,” I tell him.
    Pulling him by the hand, I lead him through the labyrinth of shelves until we reach the periodical closet. The room is filled with outdated catalogs and is rarely used.
    It also locks, and I have a key.
    We step inside. As soon as the lock clicks into place, Brandon lifts me into his arms and spins around, pinning me against another shelf. I wrap my legs around his waist just as his lips crash into mine. Warm. Wet. Frantic. I grip his shoulders as he holds me tight against his body, and for the first time, I can feel just how much he wants me.
    Overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, I bury my face against his neck and cling to him. He hugs me close, whispering my name and telling me how much he missed me.
    Over the past few weeks, we’ve been like ships passing in the night. He gets up at five; I’m a night owl. Neither of us understood how hectic our schedules really were until we tried to carve some time out to just see each other.
    “It’s Friday. I want to see you tonight,” he says softly, lowering me onto the floor. “I don’t care what it takes. Let me take you somewhere.”
    “We don’t have to go anywhere. We can just stay home.”
    “I can’t kiss you at home.”
    Me and my stupid rules.
    “I have to kiss you, Steph.”
    He proves it by kissing me again. This time, it’s slow and sweet. He kisses my lips, my cheeks, my eyelids . . . anywhere his mouth can easily reach.
    I sigh softly. “We could . . . go to the movies.”
    “We could. What should we watch?”
    “Doesn’t matter.”
    He can drag me to a bloody slasher flick for all I care. Just the fact that we will be within touching distance for at least two hours tonight is enough.
    After a few more kisses, we quietly sneak out of the periodical closet. Brandon holds my hand until we reach the counter. Ms. Maria watches us with interest as we say goodbye.
    He leans close and kisses my forehead. “See you tonight.”
    Then he’s gone, and I’m practically floating as I step behind the counter.
    “Well, you seem happier,” Ms. Maria says, her voice tinged with just a hint of laughter. “Nothing like a little library lovin’ to perk a girl right up, eh?”
    My face flames, and she gives me a wink before walking back to her office.

    When Brandon asked the girl at the box office for two tickets to the French documentary, I thought he had lost his mind. But now that we’re in the darkened theater, with a grand total of four other people, I’m thinking he’s a total genius.
    “Thirty minutes left,” Brandon whispers against my ear.
    His mouth finds mine in the darkness, and I try to remember how long the movie lasts. Two hours, maybe? And we haven’t looked at the screen once. We’re as close as two people can possibly be in the uncomfortable theater seats. Our hands are everywhere, but in true gentlemanly fashion, Brandon has kept his above my clothes and above my waist. Mine, on the other hand, have slipped beneath the